The newest GOOD NEWS Associate is a whirlwind of activity as she offers free health care on the margins. Click to read an introduction to Rosemary Zimmerman’s ministry. Though she is a highly skilled a nurse practitioner, there’s plenty to learn about running an independent medical practice out of her car. Here’s a glimpse into Rosemary’s busy days and what sustains her trusting, merciful spirit. —Christine Hall, editor

JUNE AND JULY WERE GREEN AND GROWING MONTHS. My referrals, patient load, and visits to sketchy apartment blocks have all jumped upwards! I took on at least half a dozen new patients in July, and with the new volume has come all sorts of new lessons to learn:

• What’s a safe, indoor, and reasonably private place to meet with an unhoused patient? Solution: A study carrell in a public library.
• How do I signal to a patient that I have arrived at his apartment for our appointment when I can’t knock on his door (because the the outer apartment door is key-access only), and he doesn’t have a working phone? Solution: Communicate via a series of notes shoved into his mail slot, wait for him to call me back on borrowed phones, and be directed to the correct ground-floor window to knock on.
• How can I keep track of referrals in, phone calls made, appointments arranged, appointments still to be made, and patient phone calls to be returned? Solution: A good, old-fashioned binder.

It’s all joy.

It’s frustration, too — don’t get me wrong! Frustration and a new, ever-simmering anxiety in the back of my mind that reminds me of nothing so much as being a new mother: What if his power goes out and he can’t charge his O2 concentrator? and What if she calls for me and I don’t hear the phone and it was an emergency? And, most of all, How on earth did I ever have the arrogance to believe I could be responsible for the life of another person?

There are some anxieties that are right and good; the trembling awe I feel in the face of my patients’ trust is one such right and good anxiety. When I take this fear to prayer, what I hear is something like: Yes. Yes, you must always remember the weight of others’ trust. That sense of weight is what drives my diligence over oxygen concentrators, visiting nurse referrals, and phone calls.

But then, when the work of the day is done to the best of my ability and knowledge, and I suddenly sit up in bed panicked over a phone call I may have missed, what I hear in my anxious prayer is something like: I love your desire for diligence — but do not confuse the practice of a virtue with the exercise of control. You’re not in control. I am. Now go to sleep.

And I do.

What Sustains Me

My faith is a physical faith; in Roman Catholicism we tend to pray with and through our body and senses. Gesture and touch can become intertwined with — indistinguishable from — prayer.

As I begin my morning prayers, usually still curled in bed, I cross my lips with my thumb, praying, “Lord, open my lips, and my mouth shall proclaim Your praise.” At noon, I pray the Angelus, kneeling briefly with the words Verbum caro factum est, “the Word was made flesh.” As I pass into and out of my home, I dip my fingers into the font of holy water by the door and cross myself, three fingers held together in a miniature icon of the trinity. Waiting in line at the store, my hand finds the rosary beads in my pocket, and my fingers start walking over them almost of their own accord.

At church, I pull a veil over my head as I enter, kneel before finding my seat in my pew, and am prompted by the sound of bells to lift my eyes. Later, at home, I catch the scent of incense lingering in the folds of my dress and am internally transported back to that moment of prayer.

When I was perhaps seven years old, my grandmother gave me a small cross necklace on the occasion of my first communion. I wear it daily. A few years ago, I touched that cross to (what’s believed to be) a small piece of the True Cross. Now as I take my necklace on and off, morning and evening, I press my own little cross to my lips. My cross touched my grandmother’s hand and now touches mine; my cross touched something that Jesus touched and now touches me.

I used to believe that prayer began in thought, but now I understand it to start in the body, too: in posture, gesture, scent, taste, touch — my hands on the shoulder of my patient, my stethoscope over his heart, the taste of bread lingering on my tongue.

I’ve found, too, that my body learns to accept lessons that my mind persistently rejects. My mind cannot grasp the futility of my human efforts; I think that growing closer to God must involve trying harder. But when I receive the Eucharist, I fold my hands, I kneel at the altar rail, I open my mouth, I trust. And through no action of my own, through His sheer intimate grace, God enters in.

May it be so for you.

What’s Coming Up

This summer, I’ve begun a very exciting training program in portable or “point of care” ultrasound — a skill that is, delightfully, known as “POCUS.” POCUS is very helpful in diagnosing and treating illnesses from pneumonia to kidney stones in settings where X-Ray isn’t available — which is to say, for most of my patients!

I’m partially through my training already, but the remainder of training plus the costs of a new machine will be around $7000. In the new year, I will also need to renew my medical malpractice insurance and my cloud-based electronic medical record (EMR) subscription — around another $2000.

Though I volunteer my time and expertise to ministry, donations pay for expenses like the EMR, insurance, basics like gloves and alcohol wipes, and new equipment. If it would give you joy to support my efforts with a donation, small or large, that’s why I’m an Associate with GOOD NEWS Associates.

Give a tax deductible donation toward the $9000 needed this fall for my ministry efforts here: https://goodnewsassociates.org/donations-fees/

Thanks for reading. If you’d like to receive regular updates on the ministry of St. Hildegard’s GOOD NEWS, subscribe for free to my substack page here.